The Book of Names (35 page)

His journal was in his hand. This would be its final journey.

As he wove his way through the crowd toward Yael, the events of the past month whirled by in a blur. He'd spent a week in Santa Monica with Stacy as a guest of Meredith and her husband. It hadn't felt as strange as he'd imagined, being in Len Lachman's house. Stacy had wanted him close. So close he had been.

He was still on a leave of absence from Georgetown. Still reeling from the deaths of Dillon, Hutch, and Eva.

Still hurting from the bruises and broken ribs. But those injuries would heal and fade. He only hoped Stacy's memories would as well.

The strange thing was, she hadn't wanted to know much of what had precipitated her ordeal. David had been planning to tell her that he'd explain when she was older. But there'd been no need. Instinctively, it seemed, Stacy had asked few questions, appearing comfortable to let go of what she'd been through. Lamed Vovniks, he remembered, had no idea who they really were.

Meredith had taken her for a few sessions with a therapist, who'd pronounced Stacy untraumatized by her ordeal. David was content to wait until she wanted to know more.

As he skirted a family hurrying toward a falafel stand, he caught the glint of silver earrings swinging from behind Yael's dark coppery hair. She was close enough now that he could see her smile. See the strands of multicolored glass beads at her throat. See the smooth swing of her hips.

She slowed as she neared him, the smile blooming in her eyes. She rose up on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his for a feather of a second.

“I've rented the fishing boat. We have it for the entire afternoon.”

“Should we take along a picnic?”

She smiled.

An hour later, they were far from the noisy shoreline, alone on the blue wooden boat, heading for deeper water. The sea was calm, glistening in the sunlight like a jewel beneath the city of Tiberias, which—like Safed—was one of Israel's four holiest cities.

The Israelis called this lake the Kinneret, the Christians
knew it as the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus recruited his apostles from among the fishermen who toiled there.

David waited until they were surrounded by nothing but sky and water, the people on hillsides a distant blur.

Then he set down his oars. As Yael watched in silence, he lifted his journal from the seat beside him and dropped it over the side of the boat. It floated for a minute, the pages going soft as the cool water washed against their ink. And then the red leather book slowly disappeared beneath the glassy surface, sinking to the bottom of the lake, taking its holy secrets to the deep.

Yael glanced at the sack of food beside her, then carefully maneuvered her way across the boat to sit beside David.

“Before our picnic, there's something I'd like to ask you.”

“Ask away.”

“I've received an invitation to be a visiting professor at Georgetown for the next term. Did you by any chance have something to do with that?”

David struggled to keep a poker face, but he could smell her perfume, and that made it difficult for him to resist a smile.

“What if I did? Would you consider it?”

She pursed her lips and stretched her long legs before her as if studying the salmon-colored polish gleaming on her sandaled toes.

“I suppose it would depend. Is there much of a social life for the faculty?”

“Well, you've already missed the Labor Day picnic. But Dean Myer fries a mean turkey for his New Year's Day bash. I don't have a date.”

“Fried turkey . . . ” Slowly, she turned toward him. “That might just be the best offer I've had today.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her hair falling back as she tilted her face up to his. “I do have a few qualms about your East Coast winters.”

“Not to worry. I think we can manage to keep warm.” David kissed her then, as the boat drifted. He lost himself in the softness of her lips, the lull of the sea, and the peace of knowing that the secret names of the Lamed Vovniks were concealed once more.